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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134980">Lockdown</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexNoelFieldingFan/pseuds/AlexNoelFieldingFan'>AlexNoelFieldingFan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale and Crowley Have Their Picnic (Good Omens), By angst I mean there's one mild argument, Cake, Crowley is dumb af, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I usually write Crowley pov but hey..., Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), So Much Cake, Which is very angst for me, Zira is just exasperated, ish anyway, lockdown - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:14:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexNoelFieldingFan/pseuds/AlexNoelFieldingFan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's September 2020, and lockdown is more or less over. Aziraphale takes this opportunity to see Crowley again, and catch up on the past few months. Picnic in St James' Park, anyone?<br/>Ft. a lot of cake.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Celebration Birthday Edition</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Invitation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Crowley?" Aziraphale wasn't expecting to see the demon on his doorstep. He'd suggested he was sleeping through coronavirus, and although the date July had been mentioned, when Crowley didn't appear after it he'd more or less given up hope for this year. Granted, he did pop over in late July to give him a bit of a prod, but he should know by now that nothing so subtle would wake him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aziraphale," Crowley said timidly. He just have realised quite how much he'd overslept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Crowley, come inside."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon shook his head. "Don't want to give the humans ideas."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But we're allowed now. I think," he added uncertainly, having studied the government's reports for some time and still not having gotten any answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Still…" he looked around himself, humans still bustled past him on the street, seemingly uncaring about the danger that lurked around them. "Best not to risk it," he concluded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I assume you're not staying long then, does this visit have a purpose?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well I was wondering…" the awkwardness in the air seemed to increase tenfold, and Aziraphale shuffled in place. "I guess it would be ok now. You want to… go to the park? Have a picnic? You could bring some of your cake."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that sounds lovely," Aziraphale beamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good. How about tomorrow?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a date," Aziraphale replied, and noticed when a sense of satisfaction the demon's cheeks reddening slightly. "I'll see you at twelve?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley coughed. "Yeah. Twelve." He made to move away, back to the Bentley which was parked messily on the curb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's good to see you," Aziraphale blurted out. "And thanks for the invitation." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley grunted in reply, and Aziraphale wished he could see those golden eyes beneath the glasses, have some glimpse into the thoughts behind. Into his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that demons had a heart, of course. Well, they did as much as angels. They both barely even had a corporeal form. But in metaphorical terms, Crowley had the biggest heart of anyone he knew, not that he'd have said as much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so Crowley drove off into the warm September afternoon, and Aziraphale retreated back into his bookshop, feeling that life had started once again.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And the picnic finally comes. This chapter was going to have cake in it before I'd even read the prompt and I don't know about you but that's spooky.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale arrived at five to twelve, unable to contain his anticipation any longer, just to find Crowley already sprawled under a tree on a large picnic blanket. He sat up swiftly when he saw the white figure of Aziraphale approaching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Angel," he said, by way of greeting. Aziraphale sat opposite him, a sensible two meters apart. Exactly, if anyone had cared to measure it. He placed the old-fashioned picnic basket next to him, carefully on the ground. Out of it he took all manner of baked goods, as well as little triangle sandwiches, and spread them on the blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have been busy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, I think I've gotten rather good at human baking." Admittedly, the baking he did wasn't totally human. Something, some little thing, always seemed to go wrong. The batter would split, or the icing wouldn't come out quite right, or he'd get distracted by a book and leave them in the oven until they burnt. Well, no sense in not fixing these little mistakes. What else were his powers for?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took a small, blue cupcake and eyed it appreciatively, before wolfing it down in two bites. Of course, Aziraphale knew this was how he ate, but he would have liked a little more care taken over them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what have you been occupying yourself with? Other than sleeping, of course,” Aziraphale asked, still carefully unwrapping his cupcake from its paper casing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This and that, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got much tempting done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s not really my job anymore - but no. They seemed to be making enough of a mess of things themselves, no point adding to it all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No, I rather suppose not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you? Done many miracles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As much as I could. Like you said, I thought the humans might need them.” Although perhaps not as many as he should have, Aziraphale reflected. With every day of lockdown passing, those weeks of isolation, he’d stayed more and more holed up by himself, forgetting the world existed. And every so often he’d catch a news broadcast on his ancient telly (which by rights shouldn’t be working, as with half the things in his shop) of some horrific accident happening in the world. Fires, war, violence… every time he felt he should do something. Every time he did a little less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I went to the protests,” Crowley said suddenly, snapping Aziraphale out of his reverie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The protests. Black lives matter. There were a few in July, August… head office never liked me going to that sort of thing but they can’t stop me now. Of course, I missed the early ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, those. I was there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Topple any statues?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might have… made them a little easier to topple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned, and Crowley smiled back at him. How long had it been since he’d smiled, longer still since they’d smiled together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it should all be over now,” Aziraphale said, looking at the people milling around the park. Yes, a few more masks, people standing a little further away from one another, but it all seemed to be back to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Crowley said darkly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, my dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-” He faltered slightly, but only for a moment. “I’m worried about them. You know, humanity. I feel like they’re - taking things for granted a little more than they should.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale took a sip of champagne which he had, almost by accident. “You think it’s not over, do you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just think they should be careful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to illustrate this point, a group of teenagers pass by, no masks or social distancing to be seen. There’s no way to prove they don’t live together, but everyone knows they don’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed. “Just eat some more cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s one solution.” Crowley picked up another cupcake but didn’t eat it just yet. He never was one for eating much, he preferred some other human material objects. He sighed too, and Aziraphale knew the conversation was over. The people around the park were no longer a beacon of hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would have been better if I wasn’t on my own. Lockdown, I mean.” Aziraphale didn’t notice what he had said until the words settled in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, I didn’t mean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just thought it’d be better-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you did, Crowley. It was a very </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing you did.” He expected some rebuke, at least some warning look, but Crowley just looked down. Aziraphale had a feeling that if he was human he would have blushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’pose,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley didn’t stay long after that. He did eat the cake, and he took away with him as many baked goods as Aziraphale could load onto him, even though he knew they would largely remain uneaten. But excuses were made and the demon departed. And once more, Aziraphale was left alone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yep, that was the angst. If you're looking for more angst you can go away now. Sorry I keep going on about this but I am a fluff writer primarily. This is all new territory.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Surprise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley has a surprise for Aziraphale. Whatever could it be...?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Another month without Crowley. Month and a half, perhaps. Aziraphale didn’t know, it’s not like time existed anymore. And he’d been right, as well, that damned demon. Sliding steadily back into lockdown, the second spike, all of that. Wales had already fallen once more to the virus, more or less. And it was only a matter of time before London too…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An envelope dropped through the letterbox. Checking his watch, he realised it was way too late for it to be the postman, although even a regular letter was unusual for him. On the doormat was a letter, written on old-fashioned parchment, with familiar fancy yet messy handwriting. He turned it over, and it was sealed with black wax. The emblem on the seal was a snake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale opened Crowley’s letter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll be there at five, I’ve got a surprise.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was signed with one, ornate C. Crowley always had been a little bit of a drama queen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Butterflies sprung up in Aziraphale’s stomach. Not that Aziraphale had a stomach. The word ‘surprise’ kept floating around his head, pulling hypotheses from nowhere. It could be anything, from a first addition to a bottle of wine, the meer pleasure of the demon’s company. Not that Aziraphale would turn down any of these, and of course the latter would always be the one that meant the most. Not that he’d ever say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This thought led onto a string of others, a sequence of thoughts which had become increasingly frequent in the few months previous. Of him and Crowley in a range of... compromising situations. He coughed a little, to no one in particular, and began to rearrange the books on the shelf, as was his wont when such thoughts occurred. It’s not like they surprised him anymore, took him unawares as they once did. For - oh, it must be about eighty years now - he had fully accepted the nature of his feelings towards his - heh - natural enemy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale chuckled to himself slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Surprise’ could mean any number of things, but this wasn’t one of them. It couldn’t be. Sure, these feelings were almost definitely reciprocated, Aziraphale had been sure of that for some time. He could feel it, whenever their hands brushed against each other, whenever he plucked a stray thread from Crowley’s jacket, whenever he looked into those golden eyes… well, it was obvious. Aziraphale was a creature of love, after all. And yes, it had taken him some time to realise, to be sure, but Aziraphale knew Crowley’s feelings like the back of his immaculately manicured hand. That had never been what was holding them back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, the threat of hell for Crowley had more or less gone. Any loyalty to heaven for him had definitely long evaporated. Here they were, nothing between them, a situation Aziraphale had dreamed about for years. And yet, nothing had happened. It had all gone on as before. And then with this lockdown… Aziraphale started to think it would never happen. There was something in this universe still keeping them apart, even now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His whole life (if you could call it life), all through this, Aziraphale had just sort of let things happen to him. Of course, he tried to stop the destruction of Earth… once Crowley had suggested it. And he’d stood up to Gabriel, but he hadn’t had much of a choice. And now here he was, sitting, waiting for his dashing demon to swoop him up in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was never going to happen. So maybe someone else would have to do the swooping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Aziraphale had a surprise for Crowley.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Spoilers, 'the thing keeping them apart' is mostly stupidity, but you know these idiots, you knew that already. I mean, unless I change my mind. Which I might.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Gifts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale opened the door, five past five. Crowley could get there immediately, of course, but he always had a tendency to be fashionably late. Unless he was nervous, in which case he’d always be at least half an hour early.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There he was, the demon, wearing his nicest jacket (which of course looked exactly the same as all his other jackets, to the untrained eye) and his hair done up. He was holding a large box, which Aziraphale eyed suspiciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was some awkwardness between the two of them, some barrier put up by the time apart, by the disagreement last time they met. An awkwardness that, before, they had broken down with eleven years of allyship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley put the box down on a table cluttered with books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that the surprise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ngk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale lifted the lid tentatively, his mind racing with so many possibilities of what could be inside that he couldn’t actually pick any one in particular, and was in a kind of stupor. What he actually found inside…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cake. A chocolate cake, to be precise. Covered in ganache, half of which seemed to be piled onto one section of the cake and half of which seemed to be melted off. There were traces of green icing on the top, and Aziraphale figured that the demon tried to write something on the top before giving up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It didn’t go too well,” Crowley said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale smiled, with such gentle benevolence as only an angel can quite master. He could feel the love radiating off the cake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s lovely. Should I get some plates?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, he seemed slightly embarrassed. Aziraphale fetched some plates and cake forks, and a bottle of wine. Well, why not. Cutting into the cake, the angel noticed it was actually quite well baked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Crowley, it’s lovely!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon blushed. “How do you make all yours look so nice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Practice, mostly. Of course, the odd miracle here and there doesn’t hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Crowley said softly. “That didn’t occur to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale hid a small chuckle as he ate the, frankly delicious, chocolate cake. Crowley didn’t, he just sort of poked it around the plate, which really wasn’t very him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is everything alright, my dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to apologise, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale put his fork down next to the half-eaten cake, as loathe as he was to do so. “Really, there’s nothing to apologise for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been on your own for - how long? Months. And I was just asleep. I should have-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale said. In a spurt of self-confidence he carefully lay his hand on top of Crowley’s, and felt the subtle jolt of shock in it. “You’re here now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Crowley could have blushed, if he had had blood, he would have. Aziraphale was sure of that. Instead, he just reached for the bottle of wine to drown the embarrassment, and Aziraphale pulled two wine glasses out of thin air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The evening was just beginning.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter it's gonna get really gay, trust me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Anything's a party if there's enough alcohol, even if there's only two people here.</p><p>Honestly this is actually a good chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for them to get drunk, for the cake to be forgotten. It was almost like it was before, the air was full of music and laugher and each tried to talk twice as much as the other. And yet there was some invisible barrier, some unsaid words that lingered between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale hadn’t done this sort of thing for some time. Sure, it was easy to make an assertion, even a vague plan of action, but executing it was a different matter entirely. His plan hadn’t actually gotten much further than ‘get drunk’, but it turned out that that hadn’t actually helped matters much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to think back… Oscar Wilde. What had happened then? As far as his memories went back he hadn’t had much agency in the starting of… whatever that was. None of his memories were helping, in fact, so he reached for another glass of wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘S hard, y’know, it’s not like how it looks on bake off,” Crowley drawled, and Aziraphale realised he was still talking about the cake. “The ganache just - pfffff.” He mimed an explosion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just - just practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’pose,” Crowley said, frowning. “Guess you’ve been practicing all this time… I just slept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smart,” Aziraphale said in reply. “I didn’t do much, really. Sometimes I wish I slept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, it’s great. The humans - really know some stuff, don’t they? Really know some stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some things only humans could think of. Sleep… bake off… love…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Aziraphale had had a stomach it would have been in his throat. But Crowley didn’t seem to bat an eyelid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh - heaven has love. They’re really big on love. Love this, love that, that’s heaven for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not - not </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span> love. They love everything and they - they don’t really love everything, do they? Just saying they do is enough. Human love is so… personal. It’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Do it. Just do it. Nothing bad could come of it, he was just there, it would be so easy, he’d just have to-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was over. The moment had gone, and Aziraphale felt a huge rush of relief at the pressure which had just been lifted from him. The relief was, perhaps, so great, that his brain momentarily stopped working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he leaned forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this point, he was being carried along by wine alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And their lips met in a kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d kissed before. Back in a few ancient societies, a few more modern ones, that’s how you greeted one another. Rarely on the lips but not - but not never. This was different though. Anyone could see that, at least anyone who had supernatural love-sensing abilities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was… more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They broke apart, eventually. It could have been a second, it could have been a year. It probably wasn’t a year. Crowley looked shocked, even underneath his sunglasses. In the drunken haze, this really annoyed Aziraphale, so he tenderly took them off his face. Those golden eyes, gateways to the heart, pupils dilated to an almost ridiculous degree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t - you - you were talking about love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Aziraphale could almost hear the thoughts whizzing around his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you Crowley. I always have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It came so easily now, just to say it. Just to say what had been in his heart for so long. It was just the truth, was all. And he was used to telling the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t - I never realised-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> do!” He almost looked like he was about to cry. “Since - since always, but - I mean, I thought you knew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” Aziraphale admitted. Something he probably wouldn’t have admitted sober. “I did but - you know what they would do to us? I mean the Agreement was one thing, but-” Aziraphale rested his hand gently on Crowley’s. “I don’t suppose that matters anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t suppose it does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley turned his hand upwards and caught Aziraphale’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- hrngg.” Crowley grasped the angel slightly tighter. “I love you too, Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the evening went on, more or less as it had always done. A little more - well, frankly, a little more of something any gentleman wouldn’t be quite this open about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that night, Crowley slept in a bed that hadn’t been touched in quite a few years, with his angel reading beside him. And Aziraphale knew, come a second lockdown, he wouldn’t be alone again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Really came home that I always project onto whatever main character I'm writing (Aziraphale), as well as generally projecting onto Crowley, so honestly this is just me professing my love to myself which sounds about right.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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